Mountain Top
by Inspired Inspiration
Summary: She raised the pitcher as if in greeting to the skies, letting the water slide into the basin in a clean tilt. The Elf looked carefully and stared into the water as a clear picture of a brunette came into view, standing before a building, the flickering lights of the restaurant's logo giving an eerie glow in the night. [ThorinxOC]
1. Strange visits

Chapter 1: Strange visits

* * *

" _Mithrandir_ ," a melodic voice sounded in his mind. The Wizard jolted upright and looked about. He was alone, at least he believed it to be so. His hand grasped his staff sitting mere inches away from him. The campfire was dying with sizzling embers.

Gandalf let out a breath as the voice slowly began to become familiar to him.

" _My lady_ ," he greeted with a sigh. He realized she must be watching him now with the Mirror, their telepathic (telepathic) connection requiring quite a bit of strength.

" _Your thoughts are troubled, mellon-nin_."

" _Indeed, for I cannot fathom a reason why the Lady of Lothlorien need disturb me at such a late hour other than one of warning._ "

" _How clever you are. And yet you are right. My thoughts lie with the course you are taking._ "

" _I'm traveling to the Shire to seek a burglar, as I am sure you are aware._ "

" _For a journey you still are secretive about_ ," he could hear the teasing in her voice as she scolded him.

" _I doubt a Lady with the gift of foresight need an explanation from an old Wizard with muddled thoughts_."

" _Mithrandir, the journey you travel on is perilous. Heed my warning, the ending seems not right_."

Gandalf's back straightened a bit as he gathered enough strength to listen to Galadriel's fading words.

" _What do you mean?_ "

" _I've found someone who may be able to help. Another member whom your company may find useful._ "

" _Who?_ "

" _You will see. My power wanes, I must go, mellon-nin. But be on guard, Mithrandir, I will send her when the time is right._ "

" _Her?_ "

But her voice was already gone. Gandalf's bushy eyebrows knitted together in thought. Looking up at the sky dawn was fast approaching and he lit his pipe, puffing at the smoke. He was a day or two out of the Shire. Judging by the sky and the weather, if he set out early enough he would make it to Bag-End precisely on time. However, the news from the Lady of Light nagged at his brain like an annoying splinter, something he knew was there but couldn't find or get rid of.

* * *

"'Scuse me," she muttered as she barreled past the crowd, wisps of chocolate hair whipping in the harsh city wind, a bag swung tightly over her shoulder. The torment of the weather sent her teeth chattering, her hands clinging to the strap of the bag.

Turning sharply, she was out of the wind, in one of the much calmer streets, with small but cozy houses. Greeted by the neighbour's cat that lay by the gate, nibbling at the grass, Christine cracked a dry smile and shooed the tabby off with a light jab of her boot. She pushed through the gate and made her way down the stone path, reaching for her keys in the deep pocket of her dark-grey coat.

The door opened with a hollow creak and the smell of warm, freshly baked cookies filled the house. She let out a heavy sigh of relief and unwrapped the white woolen scarf, her nose a bright red from the chill.

"Welcome home!" a cheery voice called from the kitchen. Grinning, Christie hung her coat up and tugged off her boots, sauntering into the kitchen in black socks. Mrs. Darwell, her landlady, stood by the oven, pulling out a large plate of Christmas-themed cookies with Santa Claus oven mittens.

The Scottish lady with silver hair and crinkly eyes had been living in Toronto for years now, but her accent had never gone away. After her husband had passed she opened up one of their guest rooms for rent, in hopes of finding some nice company. Christie, being a student, had grasped the opportunity because of the proximity to the university she was attending.

"How was your day?" Mrs. D asked kindly, setting the plate down and pulling out the tub of icing from the fridge.

"Mm, interesting, I guess," Christie responded. "Our professor went over some English Literature classics today."

"Oh?"

"Mhm," Christie said, swiping a finger in the icing when Mrs. D turned away, licking the sweetness from her hand. " _The Hobbit_ was one of them."

"Oh my, that old book? Haven't you read it already?"

"I have, but some people haven't. Lucas, the guy who was sitting next to me, asked me to explain what a Hobbit was. And what the difference between Dwarves and Hobbits was," Christie said with a meek laugh.

"I can imagine you were very offended," Mrs. Darwell noted.

"Oh, very, I was ready to swear at him in Khuzdul."

"Now, are you going to help me decorate these, or are you going to keep eating all the icing over there?"

Christie froze, realizing she was caught. "Sorry," she mumbled before grabbing the nearest sprinkles and arming herself with a spoon of icing, tackling the fresh cookies before Mrs. D could lecture her.

* * *

The evening went on between baking and studying on her Literature notes. The great thing Christie liked about Mrs. Darwell was the fact that she could pose any question or tell any story and the woman would listen patiently. She enjoyed her company greatly, finding the eldery woman to be much like a grandmother to her.

Her apron was smudged with flour from the new batch the two of them kneaded together by the time dusk had settled over the city. Christie heard the doorbell ring, followed by a soft rap on the door.

"Now who on earth is that?" Mrs. Darwell scolded, not very fond of visitors. "If it's one of those solicitors, send them off."

"Alright," Christie replied, grabbing a towel to wipe the egg yokes from her hands and brush the flour on her apron. Cooking was something of a constant hobby of hers, but even so, she coughed at the sugar and flower that drifted around her head.

As she pulled open the door and draped the towel over her shoulder, her face met with a waft of chilly winter air.

"Hello!" she said cheerfully, greeting the newcomer. "How may I help you?"

The figure before her was a female, long blonde hair pinned up gracefully. She was wearing heels, even though she seemed tall enough already. Christie looked up and down, taking note of the professional outfit of silver and white with a light scarf and beige coat. She didn't seem at all affected by the wind or the coat, the wavy tendrils of hair hardly moving in the breeze.

"Are you Christine Rousseau?" she spoke with an accent that Christie couldn't place, but she nodded nonetheless. Her voice was surprisingly cutting, even though she barely moved her mouth. Bright eyes looked the brunette up and down carefully and if Christie hadn't been paying attention, she would've missed the slightest tilt of a nod, as if the stranger approved of her.

"This is for you," the lady handed her a brown paper package she hadn't noticed before, tied tightly with ordinary string, no note or anything attached. Christie wiped her sticky hands on her apron again and accepted the package, cringing at the stain her hands were leaving on the clean paper.

"Who's this from?" she asked, inspecting the package carefully, but when she looked up, the stranger had disappeared.

Christie blinked, the slight scent of summer flowers and starry nights pulsing through the air, mixing with the sweetness of baked goods like a perfume.

"Christie! Close that door, for goodness sake, it's freezing," Mrs. D called from the kitchen.

Christie closed the door, shooting one last glance down the street, eventually thinking that the lady perhaps hurried off very quickly. But with the length of the path and the clear view of the entire street from the front door, she'd think she would be able to see the lady leave.

"Who was it?" Mrs. D asked as Christie reentered the kitchen with the package. Resting the towel on the counter, she glanced at the clock and nearly dropped the wrapped item.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, ignoring Mrs. Darwell's question.

"Christie," Mrs. D scolded her for her foul language. "No such words here!"

She'd lost complete track of time. Christie had to be at work in fifteen minutes, a night shift until one in the morning at a cheap and small but nonetheless delicious fast food restaurant.

"What's this?" Mrs. D looked at the package as Christie hurried to the coat rack, throwing the apron on the table and retying her hair, grabbing her coat and leaving smudges of flour everywhere her hands touched.

"I don't know, some lady dropped it off for me," Christie said, grabbing her bag and stuffing the package in it. She stopped to check her pocket for her phone and keys. "Look I gotta go, I'll be back late."

"Alright," Mrs. D wiped her hands gingerly on a towel and picked up the littered apron Christie left behind, folding it neatly. "Watch out for thieves and pickpockets."

She shut the door quietly behind her, brushing off her hands on her jeans as she set off at a brisk walk. The sky was already dark because of the short days and she played a soothing Christmas song on her phone as she walked, barely catching the sweet perfume that lingered fading away.

* * *

The night was quiet. Barely any customers came in that evening, and Christie leaned on the counter with sleepy eyes. She  
stood at the cash register while the janitor was sweeping the floors, mopping up scraps of paper, ketchup stains, and littered fries from an overexcited child's birthday party.

"Sara, can you keep an eye on the cash register? Call of nature," she asked. The blonde, the only other employee that night, nodded, and Christie hurried to the back. There was the smell of grease and salt, and Christie's uniform hung unflatteringly over her shoulders. The hair net scratched at her hair line as she made her way to the washroom, quickly taking care of business and washing her hands before hearing the familiar ding of her phone.

She exited the washroom and walked over to where her bag was, digging around for her phone, opening up a notification for her younger sister's birthday in two weeks. Christie gnawed at the inside of her mouth. What to get an eighteen-year old highschool senior was troublesome enough.

 _Speaking of gifts_ , she thought, reaching inside her bag and pulling out the package. With a surge of excitement, Christie thought it might be a book.

The bell rang, indicating a customer arrived, but Christie was already unwrapping it, and to her surprise, she pulled out a very old and tattered copy of _the Hobbit_.

Turning it over in her hands, Christie flipped through the pages, finding nothing of significance instead other than of a couple pages that were loose, nearly falling out. The smell was musky and old, and dust scattered around when the pages turned. It was one of the old copies, with a light green cover and Tolkien's Smaug drawn in the corner. The inside was yellow and old and the entire thing had a tinge of ancientness altogether.

Christie's ears perked up to the sound of heels clicking over the floor and she rose quickly, poking her head around to see who it was from the back and nearly tripped over herself to see the same blonde lady with the beige coat. She hurried to the cash register where Sara was waiting, chewing on a piece of minty gum, but the smell of that perfume was as clear as day.

"What did she want?" Christie asked.

Sara shrugged. "She asked for like a slice of lembas, whatever the hell that is. Must be an Australian thing. She sounded Australian."

"Australian?" Christie frowned before the pieces finally clicked. "Oh, my god."

She ran around the counter and called after the woman, pushing through the door with a mighty shove, only to find the lady gone, again.

Christie swore under her breath, kicking at the trashcan standing outside the restaurant, her hand clutching the book tightly in her hand. The night was confusing and troubling, and she couldn't place why.

* * *

Lothlorien was still, a light hue of bluish twilight lingering in the air. The Lady Galadriel made her way to the Mirror in almost a floating way, a large pitcher of clear liquid held firmly in her slender hand. Her look was stern, long waves of sun-like hair tumbling down her back and her eyes reflected the stars that could not be seen by the naked eye.

The dress she wore was a silver grey fabric, her circlet polished, clean and refined, much like all characteristics of the Lady. The fabric of her dress rustled over the scattered leaves as she stopped before the mirror, raising the pitcher as if in greeting to the skies before letting the water slide into the basin in a clean tilt of the pitcher.

There were no ripples, the water stilled instantly when landing with hardly a sound. The Elf looked carefully and stared into the water, resting her hands on the edge of the basin as the image of herself disappeared, showing a clear picture of a brunette, standing outside a building, the flickering lights of the restaurant's logo giving an eerie glow to the night.

Galadriel watched as the girl threw her hands up in the air, muttering foul words under her breath, making the Elf quirk her mouth in response. In her hand she saw the book she had gifted to the human. Her blue eyes sharpened as Christine opened it up again, flipping through the pages with a look of confusion.

Someone called the girl's name, and Galadriel focused on the pale blonde that called Christie back inside, saying something about the cold. Her hand snapped the book shut and she shuffled back inside, her boots catching some of the snow lying outside.

The image shifted to the girl once again, this time wrapped in a furry blanket on a black leather couch, a cup of hot tea in her hand, watching one of those TV things that humans enjoyed so much. _The Hobbit_ lay unopened by her side, and Galadriel's eyes shifted upwards, staring into the trees in thought. She waved one hand over the basin and the image faded.

Turning, she noticed her husband, Celeborn, standing at the top of the stairs, silver blue robes regal and fair, looking down at her with a knowing look. Galadriel gracefully walked up towards him where he held out his hand for her to take and quietly lead her away from the Mirror.

* * *

Christine's face was frowning the entire night when she came home. Mrs. Darwell was already asleep so she turned the TV on at a soft volume, making herself a cup of tea after getting a quick shower to get the grease and sweat out of her hair.

She'd flipped through _the Hobbit_ enough times that evening on her way back, finding nothing of significance. The theories about the lady kept coming. Knowing the actress Cate Blanchett was Australian and she'd been Lady Galadriel in the movies, for a split second she'd imagined it was the Oscar-winning actress who entered the restaurant. But she wouldn't have come all the way to Canada without some media following her, and there was nothing she'd read online about it.

Then there was the lembas thing. Perhaps it was just coincidence, perhaps Sara had heard the order wrong, perhaps she was just imagining all of it.

The sun had barely started to rise when Christie finally turned the TV off and went upstairs. The cool night made her room even chillier, and she piled an extra blanket or two on the bed before Christie slowly felt her eyes droop and she collapsed on the bed, tired and asleep within seconds.

* * *

Christie found herself dreaming something peculiar of saying goodbye to a sad-eyed Mrs. Darwell, who was hugging her tightly, whispering words of luck and giving her a small bag of Christmas cookies that smelled wonderful. The image was coloured strangely and blurry around the edges and she couldn't make out the words that were said. She tossed and turned in her sleep, an uncertain feeling settling in her stomach as she grumbled and frowned.

"D'you think she's alive?" a small voice piped up. Christie's nose scrunched up in confusion.

"'Ere, try to wake her with this," another one said and Christie felt the prodding of a stick in her side, causing her to flinch and her eyes to snap open.

A shriek followed and Christie sat up to see two curly-haired children run down the green hill.

"What the _fuck_ -?" she mumbled, scrambling up to her feet and taking a step back, only to fall and stumble over a backpack behind her. She let out a gasp of surprise as she landed on her back, in a tangled heap. She looked at her black backpack and her eyes looked around frantically. Her eyes adjusted to the dusk and she stood, twisting around to take a good long look where she was.

And her heart stopped.

She knew, she had memorized these hills, this place. The familiar round doors had dug their way into her memory and stayed there. But there was no way any of this was possible.

Christie was gaping at the scenery before her, trying to calm her racing heart-beat and began to run a list in her mind of how this could hardly be possible.

First off, it was way too bloody hot. Last she checked it was mid-winter.

Second, this had to be a very convincing dream or she was in a coma because she had fallen asleep in her own bed.

Third, this could also just be New Zealand. That could explain the weather. Yeah, that had to be it. Mrs. D or her friends might've pulled a prank, brought her here but felt bad and gave her her things in the bag.

 _But_ , a small part of her persisted, what if it was real? And what kind of friends would waste so much money and time just to drop her off in New Zealand alone?

And then there were those children, the both of them being the equivalent of Hobbit-children with colourful clothes and bouncy curls.

Christie shrugged off her coat as sweat began to form at the back of her neck and the woolen sweater she also stripped off, leaving her in her cotton t-shirt and black jeans.

As she bent down on her knees and dug into her backpack, surprised at the essentials that had been packed for her, her foot met with something hidden in the grass.

Christie hoisted her bag on her shoulder and picked up _the Hobbit_ that had been lying on the ground and her eyes flashed with sudden disgust of the book. Her bed had been so _comfortable_ that night. She shoved the novel in her bag as well, and carefully picked her way down the hill.

She glanced down and discovered she was wearing her hiking boots. The realization made her eyebrows quirk up, but she knew that they would make the trip down the hill easier, allowing her to get a good grip on the ground.

She stumbled upon the dirt path and nearly collided with a Hobbit that passed by who just looked her up and down with a look of slight surprise and fear before walking on.

Christie was contemplating what on earth to do. The sky had darkened to early evening, by the looks of it. Having been one to not travel or camp much on her own, Christie stood still, her heart still pounding in disbelief, a dull ringing in her ears.

There was only one place she really knew. And it was in plain sight. Her hazel eyes focused in on Bag-End, a round, green door barely visible in the dark, but her feet had never made a decision so fast when her brain was still making up its mind and she walked down the dirt path, keeping her head down as thoughts rumbled around in distress.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, her hand visibly shaking as she pushed open the wooden gate in front of Bag-End. The whole idea of this and the fact that she couldn't talk about it set her teeth on edge.

Mustering enough courage by letting out a deep breath and looking dead-set at the green door, she raised her hand to pull the thick coil of the doorbell and took a step back, just long enough to see the blue shining mark that Gandalf must've put there that very evening before the door was pulled open.

* * *

 _A/N: And thus it begins. Hope it was worth the read for you and a big thanks to **krystal lazuli** for being an amazing beta! _

_Any questions/concerns/comments, leave a review or send me a PM~ I love getting them and I love responding to them!_

-II

 _Disclaimer: I do not own anything from either Peter Jackson or JRR Tolkien. If I did I wouldn't be here, I'd be prancing around in the Hobbiton sets of New Zealand._


	2. Making acquaintances

Making acquaintances

* * *

The door was pulled open swiftly, and a startled Hobbit appeared, with quite a flustered face. Before her stood none other than Bilbo Baggins, his cheeks already a slight tinge of red. He was breathing heavily and gave an iconic tilt of his head as he took in the sight of the visitor.

"Oh, you're not a Dwarf," he blinked.

Christie felt the corner of her lip curl up.

"No, no I'm not," she laughed nervously, tempted to poke him just to see if he was actually real. Her voice seemed to wake him up and he straightened his bathrobe, his face flushing.

"A-apologies, I'm not in quite a hospitable mood right now. Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

"Christine Rousseau, at yours," she took a heavy bow, theatrical and dramatic with a large grin.

"Who's that at the door, Fili? Is that uncle?" a voice called from the hallway as a blonde Dwarf with moustache braids joined Bilbo by the door.

"No, far from it," Fili frowned as the other one behind him exclaimed, "Hey! Who left my quiver here like this?"

The Dwarf before Christie was fully clad in his fur and knife collection and she felt slightly overpowered by the combat-trained Dwarf who was giving her a suspicious glare.

"Please, do come inside," Bilbo said hastily as he noticed the stare off between his two guests, stepping from the doorway and allowing Christie room inside.

"What did you say your name was again?" Fili asked her as she dropped her backpack.

"Christine, and you must be Fili."

"Mm, yes, indeed I am," he looked at her closely. His brother joined them soon.

"Balin and Dwalin have gotten the chairs ready," he clapped his hand on Fili's shoulder before noticing the female in front of them.

"Mr. Boggins, you didn't tell us you were married!" he exclaimed with a cheeky grin as he winked at Christie.

"Married?" Bilbo spluttered at the accusation. Christie stared at Kili with a bewildered face, letting out a choking laugh.

"Geez, I'm here for two seconds and I'm already being accused of being _married_ ," Christie mumbled.

"What is your name, my fair lady?" Kili asked.

"Ask your brother, he had the decency of asking politely," Christie mumbled as she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the coat rack, grabbing her backpack off the ground. She turned into the dining room where two Dwarves were shoving and pushing around chairs.

Bag End seemed to be everything she'd thought of, but much grander and much more welcoming. There was a soft and warm glow from the fire and the lamps and the conversations were still moderate and civilized. Christie's eyes traveled to the two Dwarves in the dining room gathering chairs.

"This one 'ere, brother?" the tattooed one asked, hoisting a chair up. Dressed in complete warrior outfit; knuckledusters and furs, he seemed altogether terrifying with what looked like a nasty scar down his eyebrow and across his nose.

"Yes, yes, make sure ye don't break them," the elder one said with a long white beard, fluttering his hands in exasperation and he let out a deep breath, turning to the doorway. He half expected it to be the Hobbit he saw approaching, but instead, he caught sight of a female looking around the dining room and he stood, dumbfounded for a moment.

The sound of Dwalin dropping his chair startled the brunette's ear, making her look up.

"'Evening," she said with a small smile.

"Who are you?" Dwalin all but growled with a suspicious glint in his eyes, his hand gripping the back of one of the chairs.

"Christie," she introduced herself. "And you?" although she already knew.

"Balin," the elderly one said before Dwalin could snarl an insult, which he knew was coming. "This here is my brother, Dwalin. Tell me, miss, what brings you here?"

She opened her mouth to respond before the doorbell rang again and she looked down the hallway as Bilbo began shouting in frustration about too many visitors.

"Do you know where the bathroom is, by any chance?" she asked casually, realizing their conversation wasn't going far when she heard the door open and many voices echo in the hallway. Her accent was strange and Balin strained to decipher it, not to mention her choice of clothing, which seemed hardly suitable for a young lady.

"Down the hall," Dwalin grumbled, turning away to tend to the seating arrangements again.

"Thanks."

As she left, Balin hurried to the doorway and looked down the hallway to see the girl disappear into what he presumed was the bathroom and looked at his brother.

"Do you think Thorin brought her here?" he enquired quietly.

"Hardly. 'Tis that Wizard's doing, mark my word," his younger brother replied. "Should probably keep an eye on 'er, she might not even know why we're here."

Balin nodded in agreement. "Best to keep it that way then."

* * *

Christie hummed as she entered the bathroom, trying to keep herself calm and modest as she looked up into the mirror, her breath fogging the glass as she attempted to slow her pounding heart. She zipped open her backpack, her bare arms shivering, but not from the cold.

Digging around in the depths of her traveling companion, she pulled out a thick, light-pink sweater that warmed her up nicely. Not the best in terms of outfit, but she wasn't going to bother with appearances with everything going on.

She pulled her brown hair back in a loose ponytail and tried to rub some of the sleep out of her eyes. The travel from her bed to Middle-Earth and to Bag End proved to be more of an energy-drainer than she thought.

Deciding it was probably a good time to look through it now, she dumped out the numerous items in her backpack on the counter to look through them thoughtfully.

Her copy of _the Hobbit_ she left to one side, making sure to keep that safely by her at all times. She'd never been so glad to see extra underwear and socks in her life, even the ridiculous polka-dotted ones. Glad to find extra pants, plain shirts with few designs, and her Roots sweat-pants, she found herself looking at the items she herself would've brought if she'd ever gone traveling.

But when she found her bag of toiletries bulging with toothpaste, deodorant, small bottles of shampoo and other assorted items, she found the manner of packing to be more Mrs. D's who always over-prepared and ended up bringing far too much.

Mrs. D. Christie wondered what the Scottish woman was thinking about when she hadn't showed up that morning for the routinely breakfast of eggs, toast, and orange juice. Breakfast had always followed by small talk on whatever Mrs. D found in the mail that morning or what she heard on the radio about politics or human rights.

Christie bit her lip, a habit of hers whenever she needed to push herself away from her thoughts and set to repacking her backpack. The Hobbit she left in the bottom, followed by the pile of her extra clothes, a hairbrush, a bottle of water lily scented body wash and shampoo and her phone.

Surprised by the presence of the beaten up iPhone 4C, she pressed the home button and the familiar lock screen of her family popped up. Swiping through her password, she tried the Cellular data button, with no luck. There was definitely no Wi-Fi around Hobbiton either.

The battery was at 98%, so she turned the brightness down and shut it off, saving it for emergencies. Other than that, she found a rolled up umbrella, one of those cheap Moleskine hand-size notebooks and a collection of glittery gel-pens with the exception of one ordinary blue ballpoint.

Limited, but with things all incredibly necessary, Christie contently zipped the bag up again and unlocked the door and had barely taken a step out only to be swarmed up in chaos again.

Bilbo was desperately trying to stop the Dwarves from raiding his pantry, pulling at baskets and bowls while the guests just barreled past into the dining room.

"Excuse me. A tad excessive, isn't it? Have you got a cheese knife?" he asked nervously as the large ginger Dwarf walked out of the pantry carrying a mound of cheeses in his arms. Christie just managed to jump out of the doorway so to not be squished between the wall and the cheese.

"Cheese knife?" another one repeated as he passed Bilbo, a floppy hat bouncing on his head. "He eats it by the block," he was carrying a bowl himself and nearly crashed into Christie when he looked back around. Startled, he blinked before flashing a toothy grin and eagerly shook her hand, nearly breaking her wrist.

"'Ello, Mrs. Baggins!" he said, and before Christie could correct him he disappeared in the crowd of Dwarves.

She huffed in frustration, returning to the coatroom to drop her backpack in the corner before shoving her hands in the pockets of her cozy sweater and cautiously walking towards the dining room, which was packed like the Eaton Centre on Boxing Day.

The entire table was filled with plates, platters, bowls, tankards, and mugs that seemed to come from the depths of Bilbo's cupboards. But the colours of the cutlery didn't seem to matter much, considering every square inch was piled with food. Anything from steamed vegetables and meats to raw, the lot of them were stuffing their faces with no courtesy or appreciation of poor Bilbo's cooking.

Said Hobbit was standing helplessly by the doorway, watching as his food was eaten, his carpets wrecked and his peace disturbed. Christie stood beside him, crossing her arms and watching the commotion.

"Looks like quite a party," she said cheerfully, in hopes of lightening his mood. He looked at her, taking a breath as if to say something, taking note of her pink sweater, but was caught off guard once more with two of the Dwarves hastily carrying his finest barrel of ale into the dining room. He dashed off, leaving Christie grinning to herself.

She stepped out of the way as a tall, grey-cloaked figure stepped into the hallway, pondering and lifting his hand to carefully count all the Dwarves.

"Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori… Ori!"

The latter looked up from wrestling a bowl of tomatoes from the angered Hobbit and scuttled off into the chaos at Gandalf's accusing tone.

Christie hid opposite of Gandalf in the doorway where not many were passing through, practically hugging the wall in hopes of not being dragged away. She was having a hard time even looking at Gandalf himself and not falling over from pure surprise. A Dwarf –Bifur, if she remembered correctly- with his bushy black and white beard grunted something to Gandalf, giving a brief hand signal and the Wizard nodded in agreement.

"Indeed, Bifur, you are quite right. We seem to be one Dwarf short."

"He is late, is all. He travelled North to a meeting of our kin. He will be here shortly, no doubt," Dwalin grunted from behind his tankard of ale.

"Mm, I could've sworn there were thirteen coats.." Gandalf mumbled, turning around, his robes swishing with the motion and bright blue eyes caught sight of the small female standing by the wall. "Ah!"

Christie looked up, realizing the Wizard had finally noticed her, much to her dismay. She'd hoped to perhaps slip away for a while, if not find a way home. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the bustling about, and no matter how much she loved the story, in that very moment she greatly missed Mrs. Darwell's simple cooking.

"You must be the thirteenth coat," Gandalf said warming, lightly clapping his hands together. "My, you must've been lost in the crowd here."

"Heh, yeah it would seem," Christie shrugged as she finally let go of the wall.

Gandalf's eyes flickered knowingly and gave a welcoming smile. "I should introduce myself. My name is Gandalf the Grey."

"Yeah, I know," Christie grumbled, crossing her arms. She was looking at the ground so she didn't notice one of Gandalf's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"I imagine you know the reason for our, ah, gathering here?" he gestured to the overflowing dining room, no doubt referring to the fact that it must've been Galadriel who summoned her here.

"Well I know why you are here, the question is why am I here," Christie admitted truthfully.

Gandalf frowned. Perhaps the Lady Galadriel didn't do such a good job of preparing their fifteenth member after all.

"What is your name, miss?" he asked, moving out of Gloin's way as he walked by with a fresh mug of ale. He passed it to Fili, whom in turn stepped on the table to offer the extra mug to anyone who wished for it.

"Christine," she gave in with a sigh, eyeing the dining room catastrophe fearfully. "Christine Rousseau, although everyone just calls me Christie."

Her name sounded thick and heavy on her tongue compared to the Company's accents and for once she wished she was actually European, in hopes of her Canadian accent not standing out so much with the others with their British and Oceanic-like accents.

"Well, Christie Rousseau," Gandalf said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "I hope we will be able to discuss the extent of your purpose here once the dinner party has settled down." He ducked as a gravy-soaked slice of bread flew past and Christie couldn't resist the smallest of smiles.

As Gandalf looked over at Dori and politely accepted his small glass of red wine 'as requested', Christie noticed Bilbo standing in the hallway, which was calm and quiet in stark contrast to the roaring dinner table, a look of pure confusion and disgust on his face.

"I think Bilbo would like that explanation as well," she said when Gandalf finished his small glass and looked over at the girl, his long grey waves swaying with the motion of his head.

The Wizard carefully set the glass down and beckoned Christie out of the war zone, who eagerly followed.

"Miss Rousseau," he said in a gravelly tone, "What do you know of this journey?"

Christie blinked, and frowned, then blinked again. "Everything," she said, stating it like it was obvious. Out of everyone she'd met so far, she more than expected Gandalf to know where she came from and the knowledge that she knew.

"Everything? As in, the past, present-,"

"And future. Gandalf, I thought you already knew?" Christie asked him with a frown.

"I did not. The Lady of Lothlorien, however, did," he said, slouching so his head wouldn't slam into the chandelier or the low archways again.

"The Lady of-," Christie's mind finally spun the final wheel. "Jesus Christ, so it _was_ Galadriel at my door!" she spluttered out.

Gandalf blinked. He hardly found Galadriel to be a lady of door-to-door service.

"She came to your door?" he repeated.

"Yeah, but like, all professional. Not with like, uh, all the dresses and crowns she wears here, but in our world she blended in nicely. God dammit, that's why I didn't recognize her!"

"Our world?" Gandalf found himself lacking information more and more, which he didn't find reassuring, considering he was usually the one with all the answers. At least he thought so, he didn't dare say it out loud.

"Yeah! Like, where I come from, and stuff," Christie slipped into her city talk in the excitement but still overwhelming confusion over Galadriel showing up at her door. "Oh and I must've looked like such a mess too! Flour and sugar everywhere- I wonder what she was thinking."

"Ah, well, considering you are here now, I doubt it was a thought of cruel judgment."

Christie smiled dreamily. "I guess it sorta makes sense…"

And her face suddenly set in a heavy frown. "And I think I know why I'm here. Did Galadriel say anything to you? About the journey?"

Gandalf's mind clouded as he remembered their brief, but troubling conversation.

 _"Mithrandir, the journey you travel on is perilous. Heed my warning…"_

"…the ending seems not right…" he finished out loud. "That is what she warned me."

Christie looked at him carefully, finally coming to the conclusion that he didn't know at all about the story, and nodded.

"Alright. I've got a good idea of what I need to do then."

"Oi! Have another drink, here ye go!" crashing and commotion sounded from the nearby room, and both girl and Wizard turned to look, food flying to and fro from the view they had.

"Perhaps it is best if you managed to get a bite or two before they eat it all," Gandalf murmured and Christie nodded, her stomach grumbling in agreement. Crossing worlds definitely took the nick out of you, she concluded.

She managed to grab a plate off of a highly stacked pile of cutlery, cups and plates, and brushed a few crumbs off. She proceeded to dive in to steal a few smashed tomatoes, a couple of grapes and some cold turkey. The Dwarves didn't pay much attention to her, only to examine the clothes she was wearing, but they probably assumed she was somehow related or acquainted with Bilbo.

 _Mrs. Baggins- pah!_ Christie thought. She was hardly one for marriage, having had no time for relationships since she left home.

She made an attempt to leave the room, but Bofur pulled her into a seat next to him, saying something incoherent she couldn't hear over the shouting and laughter. But their smiles were contagious and Christie was soon grinning into her tankard of ale that was practically shoved in her hand from Fili. It sloshed foam over the edge, making her plate of carefully picked food soak with alcohol.

She was enjoying herself enough until Bofur's hat flew off from an egg thrown from across the table and smacking her hand, making her jump in shock and the ale spill over and ruin her jeans.

"Agh, fucking hell!" she jumped up and pushed the chair back as the sudden cold liquid made her jean stick to her legs uncomfortably. The tankard had gone flying off her hand and landed somewhere in a pile of lettuce while the room was suddenly very quiet.

Christie blinked awkwardly as twelve pairs of eyes looked at her in surprise. Dwalin was once again glaring at her suspiciously. Had she been at a summer party with drunkards and stoners, she'd have been left alone and aided by her girl-friends. Here it was quite different.

"What?" she finally said, her tone more confident than her insides. They were looking at her like they'd never seen a woman before.

"That's quite a colourful vocabulary ye got there," Gloin said and few of them murmured amongst themselves in agreement.

"Oh, well, yeah," she said, blushing hotly. "M'sorry if you don't like it. It's a bit of a common thing where I come from."

"Which brings another question," Dwalin called, leaning on the table on his elbows threateningly. "Who exactly are you? Because you are sure as the beard on my face not friends with the Hobbit."

Bilbo attempted to speak for himself but Gandalf shushed him. The table was quiet, the only sound coming from Bombur, munching on a plate of chips.

"I guess proper introductions should be in order," Gandalf apologized from the front. "I thought it could wait until after dinner, but clearly it is not so."

"Right, yeah, good planning, Gandalf," Christie nodded sarcastically. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table tightly and her legs were getting sticky and uncomfortable.

"I'm Christie, and um, I'm gonna be a part of your quest, so uh, you'll have to deal with more.. 'colourful vocabulary' on the way," she said with a bit of cheek towards Gloin, but not on a very successful tone. She hadn't even finished her sentence when the group burst into argument.

Dwalin immediately jumped up, shouting to his brother something like 'See? I told ye!'. Not many of them seemed to be in her favour, seeing how Gloin was shouting into Oin's ear trumpet about a _child_ joining their quest. Ori was sitting in the back corner, scared by the commotion and Bofur was trying to explain to Bifur calmly what was happening.

A boom and a flash of light erupted from the doorway and Gandalf stared darkly into the room. The Dwarves quietly retreated into their seats at the Wizard's glare.

"The presence of Miss Rousseau was brought here by magic. Powerful magic created by one of the wisest beings on this entire earth, and she would not have done so unless the reason was absolutely serious. So pay her some courtesy and excuse her for the traditions you have that she needs to get accustomed to!"

Christie shifted her weight from one leg to the other awkwardly, almost certain he was saying it more in defense of Galadriel's decision than her own actions. The group glared from one to another, bitterly silent and contemplating what to do with Gandalf's knowledge.

It was Bofur, who felt guilty for ruining the girl's clothes who stood up first, readjusting his hat. He introduced himself, and shook Christie's hand vigorously once more.

"Bofur, at yer service! Sorry fer mistakin' ye to be married t' mister Bilbo over here earlier."

Christie cracked a dry smile. "It's alright, thank you though." Her blood wasn't pumping as much anymore as slowly each and every one of the Dwarves rose and introduced themselves to her. Christie shook hands with those she could reach and the others took heavy, exasperate bows. Dwalin took a bit of coaxing to get up from his brother but even he found it far too rude not to say anything at all.

"Now then," Gandalf said in relief, leaning with his hand against the wall. "Considering we've all been introduced and have eaten, perhaps it's best if we proceeded to clean up?" It sounded more like a demand than a question and Bilbo nodded eagerly in agreement, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

Slowly but surely, one by one, the Dwarves came out of the dining room, the unholy stench of foods mixed together that shouldn't be following them. A light whipped cream was dripping from one of the tips of Bofur's hat and Gloin's beard was covered in crumbs.

Conversations were stoked up again whilst this time the kitchen was invaded to clean up. A strange tune was hummed by Bifur, who stood by the sink with a large brush in one hand and a stack of dishes on his side. Christie padded in quickly, dipping her plate in the lukewarm water next to him. The Dwarf looked startled and grunted something as Christie grabbed a small sponge and cleaned her plate off herself.

She blinked at him mid-scrub, clearly not understanding his words. He hurriedly shook his head as if to say 'never mind' and she gave him a small smile, feeling dumber than ever for not even finding a civil word to say to him. She turned back around and dried off her plate off. Putting it in the cupboards where she presumed it went, considering all the cupboards and shelves were completely emptied, she was almost glad none of the Dwarves had attempted a conversation with her yet. The commotion from her awkward introduction still had her quite embarrassed.

"No, that is a doily, not a dishcloth!" Bilbo exclaimed in exasperation, grabbing for the fabric in Bofur's hand as they came into the kitchen.

"But it's full of holes," the Dwarf retorted with a sip from his tankard.

"Yes, yes it's supposed to be like that- it's crochet," Bilbo said bluntly, clearly at his wit's end.

"Oh, and a wonderful game it is too," Bofur agreed, making Christie smirk and Bilbo sigh, "if you've got the balls for it."

The group in the kitchen burst out with laughter and even Christie couldn't resist. Bilbo, however, seemed ready to snap Bofur's neck.

"Bebother and confusticate these Dwarves!" he growled.

"My dear Bilbo, what on earth's the matter?" Gandalf asked with a lingering smile on his own lips as he ducked into the kitchen.

"What's the matter?" Bilbo repeated incredulously. "I'm surrounded by Dwarves. What are they doing here?"

"Oh, they're quite a merry gathering, once you, uh, get used to them."

"I don't want to get used to them!" Bilbo hissed as he ushered Gandalf in the hallway.

"The state of my kitchen! T-there's mud trails on the carpet, they've pillaged the pantry! And I'm not even gonna tell you what they've done in the bathroom, they've all but destroyed the plumbing, I don't understand what they're doing in my house!" he finished with a tight and upset voice, pinching the bridge of his nose, standing there with his curly toes and ruffled hair.

"Excuse me," a timid voice approached him. "But what should I do with my plate?" Ori asked him. Bilbo glared strongly at the Dwarf, dumbfounded and his expression blank.

Christie stepped out of the kitchen just in time to catch Fili grabbing Ori's plate, saying, "Here ya go Ori, give it to me," and tossed it right over her head to Kili. She let out a small shriek of surprise at the plates flying by and she ducked away as they began their theatrical clean up.

Bilbo was once again thrown into a desperate attempt to calm the Dwarves, shouting about his plates and cutlery. He pushed through into the kitchen as a catchy beat came from the stomping and clanking of knives and forks.

"Can you please not do that? You'll blunt them!" Bilbo cried out. Bofur, on the other hand, grinned in amusement.

"Ohh, y'hear that lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!"

Christie's face burst into a full-out grin, despite her stained clothes and the awkward introductions, as the Dwarves began singing her second-favourite song out of the entire series. The first, of course, was Misty Mountains.

She was so caught up in the beat and adrenalin she nearly missed Nori chucking her a wooden bowl, which she caught semi-gracefully. It was like a game of telephone, passing the cutlery and plates one person to the next. She tossed the bowl to Kili who caught it in a jump and threw it over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

Somehow Bofur had ended up on the table, drunk, and incredibly happy to be playing his whistle. Christie had lost sight of Bilbo, who no doubt was so full of it at this point. Her pony tail had come undone and her dark hair was whipping around until the plates were all gone and cleaned and the table had been wiped off with a couple of sleeve-sweeps.

Bombur was the first to hobble in with a towering stack of plates that the rest began sorting efficiently, by colour, by size, and by item. When Christie was convinced the table couldn't hold anymore, Bilbo came pushing through the Dwarves, muttering indignantly under his breath, only to find all his things cleaned, wiped off and sorted.

He was once again silenced by the absurdity of the Dwarves who looked at him like it was the funniest sight of all. Christie happily accepted another tankard of ale from Balin who began smiling more warmly at her, and Kili clapped his hand on her back, nearly making her choke. She'd expected them to hold a grudge on her forever, but Gandalf's words had knocked some sense in them enough to at least observe her first before going into judgment.

She sipped at the foamy edge as they roared with laughter. Bilbo looked at her and she gave a half-shrug of 'hey, what did you expect?' but their amusement was short-lived as three heavy pounds came on the front door.

Gandalf looked over at the door visible through the doorway, his expression going stern once more and Christie didn't know if it was her heart wrenching or her stomach twisting at his next words.

"He is here."

* * *

 _A/N: Whoop, Thorin comin' up next. Don't know when I'll have Chp 3 but again lots of thanks to **krystal lazuli** for beta-ing this chapter even with such a busy schedule at this time!_

 _Happy Holidays to everyone, whether you celebrate Yule, Christmas, Hanukkah, anything else or nothing at all!_

 _Thank you for all your encouraging reviews so far! Shout outs to **Kelly** and **unicorn682006**! _

_Any questions/concerns/comments, leave a review or send me a PM~_

 _-II_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own anything from either Peter Jackson or JRR Tolkien. If I did I wouldn't be here, I'd be hiding in my basement with all my Hobbit-y books and material._


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